


descent

by asongtofixwhatswrong



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, all I do on this acc is jon sadpost, not-fic, some bg jm but this is a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25895182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asongtofixwhatswrong/pseuds/asongtofixwhatswrong
Summary: A look a Jon's will to live and his attitude towards that will.***Some angsty kinda unfinished not-fic. I had meant to do little vignettes about Jon's mental health at eleven points in all of the seasons but ran out of steam after starting with some of the last ones, but I think what I did write holds up pretty well so here it is. Who knows I might finish it off and tack on the first bit at some point.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	descent

Jon wouldn’t really call himself “suicidal.” Technically, he knows that’s the right word for his mindset, but it’s got so much  _ baggage _ attached to it, it sounds so… emotional. Personal. And he’s not being emotional or personal, at least, not in that way. He’s being realistic. All things considered, he should die. 

He made the wrong choice to trade his humanity for his life, and now he’s stuck living on borrowed time. 

He doesn’t know anyone who hasn’t died, been irreparably traumatized, or both because of him. 

He daydreams about ambushing innocents and violating their minds for a hit of euphoria and a temporary respite from marrow deep hunger. 

He’s being used as a main conduit by an everlasting fear god for who knows what ends.

So, yes, he thinks he should die. It’s the only responsible view to have, and it’s not like anyone around him is trying very hard to dissuade him. Melanie, who walked in on him self-harming quite persistently into a tape recorder; Basira, who watched him open the door to the Dark Star they had been told in no uncertain terms would kill anyone in its presence; Daisy, who listened to him talk about how the universe might be better off losing another monster. They all must be able to tell his thoughts on the matter at least at some level, and the loud and clear message he keeps getting is “you hurt people and we want nothing to do with you.” And though he can’t help but stubbornly fight back and defend himself and crave a kind word in the face of scorn, he knows they’re right. He’s a hazard. He  _ should _ die.

But anyway, he still wouldn’t really call himself “suicidal.” It’s not like he’s actively going to try and kill himself on purpose or anything. Martin had seen through him completely on that front, he doesn’t actually  _ want _ to die. He’d wanted to wake from the coma, to climb out of the Buried, to fight off the hunters. As much as he thinks he deserves it, as much as he thinks it makes sense, as much as he thinks others would be better off, even as much as he wants to just  _ stop _ and rest, he still fears death. He thinks he should at least want it if he’s going to call himself “suicidal.”

* * *

Jon hasn’t felt this happy in… in years? Ever? He can’t remember and he really honestly doesn’t care. He knows that this little bit of peace can’t last forever, but when he wakes up with his face buried in his love’s hair, when he swaps childhood stories while staring at the sitting room ceiling, when warm arms envelop him as the shivers of withdrawal wrack his body, when he kisses a freshly tear stained cheek til it’s dried and an anxiously running mouth til it’s smiling, it’s easy to forget that this is in intermission. It feels like the second chance he saw flash past him eight months ago.

He feels loved, seen, accepted. Wanted, needed, useful. It’s getting almost as hard to sink into a spiral of guilt as it is to not smile when Martin takes his hand. 

The days turn into weeks into getting on a month and Jon keeps having to bite back the seductive idea that maybe this is it. Maybe they got out, eyes and all. Maybe, just maybe, after years and sacrifice and sorrow and fear, he’d  _ won _ .

If only Basira would hurry up with that package. Like he said, it’s getting on a month, and God is he hungry.

* * *

Jon would, in fact, call himself suicidal. Feels a bit self aggrandizing, using a word usually meant for people with an illness from which they deserve to recover and  _ Christ  _ does he fucking not, but there are no two ways around fantasizing about hurting himself until he stops breathing. That's suicidality. Guilt throbs in his skull like an axe laying into a tree trunk. The sounds of fear screech behind his ears in crystal clarity, letting him know exactly what it is he’s done. He goes through phases of letting it wear at him, growing colder and colder until he’s numb to the pain before abruptly shattering and breaking into a fit of sobs and scratching at his arms and pulling at his hair until he starts to freeze over again.

He wants to cut his hair, he thinks. It’s too much on him, constantly. With the screaming in his ears and the fire before his eyes and the iron in his nose, feeling hair touch against his neck is more than enough to set him off tumbling headfirst into another breakdown. He wants to cut it himself, but Martin won’t let him near scissors. He doesn’t like the confinement and the control, and he _hates_ taking up the mental space and making Martin distressed, but Martin’s not wrong. Jon’s mind rarely moves entirely away from thoughts of blood and pain.

Of course, Jon could circumvent any roadblocks in a matter of minutes. Martin still needs to sleep, and even without all knowing Eye powers, the cabin is only so big. It would take him inside of half-an-hour to find where all the sharps and pills and rope and bleach have disappeared to. But Martin would be upset, and it probably wouldn't even work, and Martin wouldn't let him clean up his own bloody mess.

Better to just give in to selfish retreat and let himself spend another hour wrapped up in the arms of the one he loves. 


End file.
